


The Breaking of a God

by Your_Local_Chaos_Vendor



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Clay | Dream Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Pandora's Vault, Prisoner Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Suicidal Thoughts, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:14:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29205684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Your_Local_Chaos_Vendor/pseuds/Your_Local_Chaos_Vendor
Summary: Imprisoned in Pandora's vault, Dream's supposed undying resolve begins to crumble.I don't know how to summaries so that should suffice
Comments: 1
Kudos: 258





	The Breaking of a God

He absolutely, and completely, hated this cell, for a multitude of reasons. And for reasons other than it being his holding place - the place he was abandoned to rot in.

Primarily, he hated the silence that filled the space. Of course, it wasn’t complete silence - the continuous ticking of his clock, as well as the continuous popping of the lava made sure of that. Even with those sounds, however, Dream could for certain call the cell silent. Granted, his base used to be quiet - but he didn’t spend that much time in it. Most of his time was spent outside, where all kinds of sounds could reach him. The rustling of leaves The burbling of water. The distinct sound of people chattering in the distance.

Tommy’s vibrant laughter echoing through the server.

A wave of a strange feeling rushed through him at that thought - a terrifying amalgamation of nostalgia and guilt. He instantly pushed it down, refusing to spiral down that path. He had nothing to feel guilty about; he simply did what had to be done, and he doesn’t regret a thing.

Except he oh-so-obviously does, even though it may be for the wrong reasons.

Other that the silence, he also hated the feeling of someone always watching him - and even more so, the knowledge that that person was so close, but unbelievably far out of his reach. Sam. He hated him. Other than the first few days, where Dream had idiotically decided to spill his guts out about the things he had done to Tommy during the teenager’s exile, Sam has been ignoring his attempt at making small talk completely. He wanted to scoff, to cuss at the warden, to yell that no one ignores him. But he can’t, because he is very much aware that, if there is a chance that one day Sam will give in to his attempts of conversation, doing so would diminish that chance. And hate it as he may, day by day, he felt himself craving human interaction a little more. The isolation was draining him - and it caused his insecurities to spike.

Finally, he hated the feelings that this god forsaken cell awoken inside him. Mainly, fear. He- Dream is not meant to feel afraid. He is meant to be the one causing fear to stir within others. So when he woke up with a yell one day, cold sweat covering his body, and his breathing rapid and shallow, he didn’t exactly take it too well within himself. Especially when he found himself flinching visibly at the afterglow of said nightmare, watching Tommy’s axe violently swing down on his head, to take his final life.

Heh. He spent countless hours during the teen’s exile tormenting him, and yet here and now, the teen torments him through his very own dreams. Oh, how the tables have finally turned. He felt an involuntary bitter laugh escape his sore-from-yelling throat, before he looked at the potato in his hand.

Oh, he also hates the food here. Just potatoes - and not even cooked ones, at that. The first week he was given bread, but it seems like that was to be considered as a luxury around these parts. He remembers when he first ate the potatoes like this - it didn’t end well for his stomach. Searing pain burned through it, as Dream was basically folded in two, whimpers and hisses escaping his mouth involuntarily, and tears prickling his eyes.

But he never allowed them to spill down his cheeks.

Even when he was retching and vomiting on the cold obsidian floor.

He told himself he’d gotten used to the raw potatoes - that his stomach has been accustomed to the disgusting choice of food. Of course, who said that his stomach believed him? In truth, he had just simply gotten used to feeling sick in constant pain. Until he hadn’t.

Lying down on his side, against the cold obsidian floor, he was once again, cussing and breathing heavy. Tears were still gathered in his eyes, trying their best to escape - but Dream still wouldn’t let them. Anger rose from his chest - towards Sam, for doing this to him, towards Tommy, for locking him in here, towards himself, for being weak as he is. He sat up, ignoring the sharp increase of pain, and grabbing his mask, he violently tore it from his face, and threw it on the floor with as much strength he had left. It honestly wasn’t a lot, but it was still more than enough for the white porcelain to shatter into small pieces. Snatching a large shard angrily, he stared at his other wrist with a glare full of hatred, before he moved the shard fast, wanting to see his hand engulfed in crimson.

Yet he never saw it.

His arm had ceased moving right before the sharp porcelain shard had made contact with his wrist. He gritted his teeth and tried to push the shard onto his wrist - the arm, however, ignorant to his trying, just stood still, albeit for the shaking that slowly engulfed the blond’s body. A choked sob made it through his gritted teeth, as he realized, to his horror, that he couldn’t bring himself to end his life. That he was still afraid to die.

The grip on the shard tightened more and more throughout the ordeal, until it finally tore through the skin of the hand gripping it, drawing blood from it. Dream instantly yelled in pain and dropped the shard away, before clutching his own hand close to his chest. More tears gathered to his eyes - yet this time, he had no way to hold them back, as they finally slipped out, followed by a bunch of choked sobs.

The tears never stopped, and soon Dream stopped trying to block the sobs - instead, he now started cussing, cussing everything about his situation, cussing at Tommy and Sam, and cussing at his weakness.

“Just let me die already.” he whispered bitterly at last.


End file.
